


Beast with His Horn

by Satin_Swallow



Category: Lie to Me (TV)
Genre: Angst, Betrayal, F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-30
Updated: 2016-09-30
Packaged: 2018-08-18 16:54:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8169140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Satin_Swallow/pseuds/Satin_Swallow
Summary: More re-watch feels. Set just after 3x3 “Dirty Loyal” and reference heavy (also to 3x1 “In the Red”, and 1x4 “Honey”), because I could never quite get round to ‘happily friends again’ after this and I wanted to write something that filled in the gaps for me.





	1. I Have Torn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _He actually laughed, “You’re showing your hand now, love.”_

Two days.  

It had been two days and still she had said nothing to him beyond the perfunctory, her voice clipped as it had been since he had felt the vibration of her hurt, the uptick at the end of a sentence that had given her away.  

_‘That's kind of ironic from where I'm standing.’_

Once he had forced her hand, made her knowingly mislead Internal Affairs for him - and Wallowski by extension - the quiver had vanished, and so had the Gillian who had been happy to eat chocolate pudding at ten in the morning. She had been disappearing slowly, he realised,like he had been gently erasing her with his own carelessness from the moment he had questioned her deliberate childlikeness. He had known that he would, had silently confessed as much to a woman who liked warm honey, but this proof of his infallibility when it came to his own self-destruction - and those he took with him - was more than he could take lying down. 

Vegas. Clara. Burns. All could somehow be forgiven, and her smile had been salvaged from each wreck - but this? He had finally asked the unthinkable, and the agony of his error was plain enough. As she once more made to walk out of his office with a face of pure obsidian - having talked quarterly reports like they were all that was between them - he could no longer accept the status quo. 

“Gillian,” he stated to the back of her, stretching out his fingers as though they would fix everything in the air in the gap. 

She stopped, the blue folder rising as a shield in front of her as the slender fingers of both of her hands curved it in their clutching. He could see the rise of both shoulders, the tilt of her head that told him she would listen, and that she _hated_ him for it. She turned, the make-shift shield dropping back to her side as she employed far more effective walls, which had long since learned to keep Cal Lightman _out_.   

The look was the same as her walk had been when she had charged from Wallowski’s questioning. ‘ _Never mind.’_

He raised a finger to object to it, restraining his urge to point at her and make it her fault somehow for striking at him in that tone of silence. He breathed in to speak, ready to begin but unable to formulate the plan that might be forthcoming in his defence. He held that breath as Gillian’s brows raised with such a pert challenge to him - a dare to even _try_ and defend himself on this count - that she stole even the absence of his words with the boringand darkened grey of her eyes. 

He let it be then, the rush of air collapsing into the resignation of facing the matter head on - not his favourite tactic with her. 

“Look, are we _ever_ going to talk about this?” he squinted at her, tilting his head and turning his palm upward in a wave of opening up the room to her. 

She did not move, not even a pristine strand of hair.

“I mean, we’ve lied before, you know… to the press, to the FBI,” the tip of his tongue played across his top teeth, “hell we even lied to a girl about the wrongful death of her mother.” 

Her chin tilted very slightly upward.

The play on teeth turned to a sucking sound as he tried to find another way to draw her out. The flash of irritation that flickered because of it was plain as the nose on his face, a slow blink on a slightly deeper breath. “And we’ve talked about the firm, and assets, and _risks_ ,” he played to it, allowing his earlier restraint to turn into a pointed finger as he leant on the last word, his name on the wall, and the memory it must conjure. 

_‘You mess with my finances again, you and I are through.’_

“Two people are _dead_ , Cal,” she said. _Bingo_. 

“Got a soft-spot for gang-bangers, do you?” he grinned, his eyes taking no delight in the taunt. 

“Almost as deep as my one for vigilante justice,” she shot back, arching her neck forward. 

“Oh, of _course_ , the letter of the law _must_ be followed,” he sniffed, seemingly considering before he fired back, “unless of course its a billionaire’s Ponzi scheme, or a runaway tax fraudster.” 

“That is _not_ fair,” she fired, raising the folder once again, this time as a weapon pointed at him. 

“Oh, were they just judgment calls, then?” he pressed out of his chair, slinking out from behind his desk and approaching her, “I’m sorry, love, I wasn’t in on the definition. Or is it more a question of the _subject_ …?”

“Cal,” she warned. 

“… you know, the judgment is legitimised by the person who makes it?” he spoke right over her, his indicators characteristically theatrical. 

“Those are _not the same_ , and you know it,” she closed the gap, coming into his space with the confidence that had gone from strength to strength after she had left Alec. “Farr was _dirty_ , Cal, and Wallowski knew it.”

“Yeah, and she also knew he was protecting his _son_ ,” his jaw clenched. 

“Who _killed_ two people,” she found it incredible that she had to make this clear to him, “when did we start defending dirty cops? Or is that a question of subject, too? You know, the dirty cop is legitimised by the persons she’s _sleeping with_.”

“ _There it is,_ ” his smile was wolfish, his finger in her face and forcing her back a little.

“You put her before _everything_ , Cal. Before the firm, before all of us,” she gestured back to the staff, the majority of whom weren’t even in the building any longer. 

“You mean, I put her before _you_ ,” he stated it simply, no longer caring to hold to the pretence of game-playing and arguments. He had wanted her to get to the point, and here they were. 

Gillian breathed, her anger retreating back into her eyes. 

“Yes,” she all but scoffed, unafraid to say what was seemingly dangerous information to him, and to put their trust up to the test, “your _partner_. Remember?”

He dropped his hands, slipping them into his pockets with - disappointment? “Yeah, right, partners.” 

“Why, Cal?” she didn’t ask what she wanted to next. _‘Was it that good?’_

“Well, it’s simple, isn’t it?” he wrinkled his nose, “She owes me now. She owes you too, _by the way._ ” 

Gillian actually did scoff, “Well, if I need a ‘Get Out of Jail Free’ Card, I’ll be sure to call her right up.” 

“Don’t be like that,” he shook his head, “this act doesn’t suit you.” 

“What _act_ , Cal?” her eyes actually flashed a brighter blue than he thought possible, “You forced me to _lie_ for her! You put everything I care about - everything I thought _we_ cared about - in jeopardy to cover up your _girlfriend’s_ indiscretions!”

He actually laughed, “You’re showing your hand now, love.” 

Gillian reared back, her anger crushing her lips into a bitter line of a smile before it crumbled down into a low and rumbling wound as she raised her forefinger to do some pointing of her own. “If you want to turn this into a cat fight so you can feel better about how much you just _hurt me -_ fine,” she kept her eyes level with his, “but don’t expect me to fall for it.” 

And with that, she turned away from him and began the walk again. Cal blinked his eyes shut and breathed out with a rush. 

“Gill,” softer this time. 

“ _Don’t_ ,” she raised a hand, still walking. 


	2. Everyone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“He’s in love with you, you know?”_

Three days. 

It was three days until Wallowski was back in the office, and Gillian was trying not to look like she was ignoring her intentionally. She knew that what Cal had said was true, knew that it paid to have a hand on deck that might fill the aching gap Ben had left - one who was willing to play by rules other than the one’s laid out in the police manual.

Perhaps that was it. 

Ben had always been more like her, a voice of reason, a stand-in for moments when she couldn’t be the voice in Cal’s head. Wallowski was Cal all over, rough and decisive when it came to her own opinions and enforcing them. Gillian was adult enough to know that there was jealousy at play, but she was also adult enough to keep a steady head in that department and identify things for the problems they were. Cal didn’t need any more encouragement to go the way he was going. 

Vegas. Clara. Burns. All had revealed sides to him that worried her awake at night, and though she believed them all manageable in their own right, relatively safe, she wasn’t sure Wallowski was going to encourage him on the path to a healthy mentality. 

Cal was self-sabotaging at the best of times - a dirty cop under his belt? It seemed like an escalation to self-destructive. 

“He’s in love with you, you know?” 

Gillian turned abruptly from the screen in the lab to see the Latina leaning in the doorway, her shoulders squared and so very aggressive - as always, “Excuse me?” 

God, could she stow that chill in her tone for just a second? 

“You heard me,” Wallowski smiled, stepping into the room and placing her hands on her belt, “why else do you think he put all his effort into ensuring _my_ loyalty?”

Gillian tilted her chin upward, “I don’t know what you - ”

“He knew,” she continued, “he knew that he needed something _good_ , something just damning enough to keep me in the game. He didn’t even blink to know you’d have his back.” 

It angered the psychologist, and she turned back to the screen, her eyes fixing on detail to keep her mouth shut. He knew she would have his back; so he could lie to her whenever he pleased, offer her up for tenderising whenever he needed to - because she was Gill, and she had his back. 

She let out a bitter laugh of air between her teeth. 

“He doesn’t trust me as far as he can throw me,” her voice lowered, “but you? He didn’t even have to ask.”

“It’d be nice if he did, once in a while,” she quipped. 

“He didn’t put me before you, Foster,” she said it gently, “actually I think it was the opposite in a bizarre, _Lightman_ sort of way.” 

Gillian didn’t like it - the familiarity of her surname, the pretence of knowing what she had taken eight years to learn. She turned back to the cop, aware of the tension that kept her shoulder’s raised. She appraised her without attempt at concealing it. She breathed. Cal was right, this wasn’t like her at all - though his belief in petty jealousy was pale in comparison to her concern for his well-being, and the danger this woman presented to him. “Why are you telling me this?” she asked. 

There was silence. 

“I’m tired of seeing you in his eyes every time he touches me,” Wallowski confessed just as blindly as neither doctor seemed able to. Gillian blinked as she finally looked her in the eye. “Humility isn’t always a strong suit of mine, but I _know_ when I’m playing second fiddle,” she finished neatly. 

Additional silence.  

“Whatever he’s paying you, it’s not enough,” Gillian steeled herself for the real answer, knowing full well that this was the moment for the adulthood she had so easily claimed a moment before. She hadn’t wanted to ‘win’, hadn’t wanted to make this about fiddles at all. 

“He didn’t send me,” came the confident reply. 

“I don’t trust you either,” Gillian countered. 

Wallowski smiled, “Not a betting man, huh?”

It earned a gentle huff of a laugh, “Not usually, no.” 

“Well,” she pressed further, “every team needs a den mother.” 

“Thanks,” Gillian winced. 

“ _Hey_ ,” she seemed genuinely put out, “don’t hate on the den mother. That’s what they used to call Lauren Bacall, and I’m pretty sure there wouldn’t have been a rat pack without her.” 

A genuine laugh, “I’ll try to remember that.” 

“Good,” she seemed satisfied by all of it. As the dust settled, she turned and made for the door. Gillian felt something else lingering in the conversation, unsaid. 

“It’s exhausting,” she suddenly added. Wallowski stopped and turned her head back, appraising the moment and the woman in cashmere. 

“Being in love with Lightman?” she charged, Gillian blinked rapidly to hear it admitted aloud by either of them. The sadness that descended on the other woman’s face, however, was enough to send any recognition of the moment packing. There was only more complication, more difficulty for them all, “Yeah. It is.” 

And she left her. 


	3. Who Reached Out For Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“It’s late, love,” he murmured._

Four days.

It was four days until she was back in his office with so much she already knew buzzing about her head. It would be naivety to think that the revelations in the lab had been revelations at all. It was not a matter of knowing love, but of managing it, tending to it - knowing when to cultivate and when to prune, when to leave it alone altogether. 

“Cal?” she broke the silence and returned the status quo as he leaned over pages. He looked up, his glasses on - he was tired. 

“It’s late, love,” he murmured. 

“Yes, it is,” she wasn’t talking about the dark that had settled outside. 

He nodded. _‘I’m sorry,’_ on his face. 

“You planning on going home any time this week?” she chided carefully, with more warmth than he’d seen on her in days. 

He navigated the space tentatively. 

“I don’t know,” he tested, “wouldn’t want to walk out and have the door slam behind me.” 

“It won’t.” _‘I’m sorry,’_ in her voice.

Cal breathed easily for the first time, though he would find himself on eggshells for weeks to come. “Good to hear it, darlin’,” he said. 

_‘Yes, it would be,’_ she could not help but think. No. Another time. Another place. Another mistake. “Goodnight, Cal,” she offered, not quite ready to hand over her hurt, no matter what Wallowski had said. Tonight she would give him room to breathe and then, perhaps, so could she, as she went home to try and sleep off the hangover of his hurting her. It never seemed to pass like any other nasty comment, lingering instead in her limbs for days of excess energy. It would fade, and he would try to make it up to her, but right now she needed to soak it out of her muscles like so many aches. 

“Goodnight, love,” he agreed, having neither leg to stand on in demanding any more of her. 

He would see her in the morning, and that would be enough. 

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave a comment if you have a moment!


End file.
